


Fugue Feast Fu(cki)n

by timekill3r



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, but monroe got distracted, the fucker, this is so not what i had planned, what the fuck even
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timekill3r/pseuds/timekill3r
Summary: He can hear The Outsider laughing.





	1. Break His Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WahlBuilder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/gifts).



> I swear he was just going to stab a few dudes and go straight to Oleg. He just never listens to me.

He’s not partying. It sure looks like he is, dancing from rooftop to rooftop unnoticed, feathered mask hiding his face from The Outsider himself, materialising behind backs of acquaintances and chuckling into their ears.

Monroe is working. Sometimes his low chuckle is the last thing they hear.

He kisses a man in an alley. A young man, inexperienced and afraid of getting caught. Monroe pushes a thigh between his legs, lets him feel what they both know he loves - muscle and raw strength against his cock. The man moans and Monroe catches that moan in another kiss. He feels like he’s betraying the bond he has to someone else, but then again...he never liked being tied down to what he can’t fully have.

“You smell so good.” He whispers hotly, breathlessly into his one time lover’s ear. “It’s driving me mad.” He’s a heretic. He’s allowed to lie.

The man giggles. “Everything about you is driving _me_ mad. Would you please hurry?” Monroe feels hands on his ass, squeezing lightly, and then a palm between his legs, rubbing him through the leather of his pants. 

“What if i want to take my time with you?” Another whisper, this time against the man’s neck where Monroe’s mouth latched as a response to the demanding hand on his cock. He doesn’t expect to be pushed away roughly, held close and at a distance at the same time by his shoulders.

“No,” the man says. It’s the kind of a ‘no’ that Monroe knows so well, the kind that you just don’t argue with. He wants to laugh. The man continues. “What if someone sees us? I don’t care that it’s the Fugue Feast. _They_ won’t care. I want to live.” There’s a moment of silence and Monroe watches common sense and self preservation fight lust on that handsome face. “You look like you can defend yourself. Void, you look like you could easily kill a man. But I’m not you.”

Monroe wraps his fingers around the man’s wrists, slow enough for him to stop it if he wants. He doesn’t. “Promise me you won’t start screaming for the Overseers,” he smirks, and not a moment later they’re on someone’s balcony, and then on a roof.

“Wha--” the man stares at him, looks around, and back at Monroe, who’s trying his best to fight his mischievous laughter. “You…”

“The worst kind of a heretic, yes.”

For a very long moment they just stare at each other, not daring to let go, but not daring to pull closer either. Monroe doesn’t want to scare his potential lover more. His potential lover doesn’t want the moment to end, because there’s a chance that then this bad, beautiful man will just kill him.

“I’m sorry.” Monroe finally says, and there’s a spark of fear in those dark eyes that he feels he must soothe instantly. “About scaring you, I mean. But nobody will see us here.”

“Oh.” The fingers on his shoulders tighten and slide down his arms, making him flex the muscles a little. Show off. “Ah, well then.” And then Monroe has an armful of man pressing close to his body, hips rolling against his and a needy whisper in his ear.

“Take your time with me then, heretic. _Fuck me_.”

Monroe doesn’t need to be told twice.

He fucks the man with only a layer of their clothes between the cold roof and their bodies. He leaves bite marks and bruises that won’t take long to heal, and he does take his time, even if not as much as he would like to, because his lover is demanding and impatient. 

They don’t rest when it’s over, don’t lie in each other’s arms and don’t speak about how good they feel. They dress in silence, small smiles tugging at their lips.

“I don’t suppose I will see you again?” The man asks after the last piece of clothing is back in it’s place. Monroe doesn’t allow himself to notice the sadness in his eyes.  
He could say he will. He could come back to this young, handsome man who knows what he wants and feels no guilt about taking it. He could keep coming back until he stopped being able to imagine his days and nights without him. 

Maybe he could. He knows it’s a lie. He already can’t imagine his nights without someone else.

“It’s alright.” The man says, saving him from having to open his mouth and break another heart. “I understand. I don’t think it would work out anyway. We lead much too different lifestyles.”

“Let’s get you down.”

This time the man giggles as their feet touch the ground back in the alley, and Monroe, one arm still around his waist, gives him a questioning look. “It feels nice. Leaves my skin tingly all over for a few seconds.”

Monroe feels his own heart break.

He watches the man lean closer and feels lips on his cheek. A short, soft kiss. “Thank you,” the man says, and Monroe lets go of his waist, unable to keep his hand from slowly sliding over his side. 

They smile at each other one last time and Monroe winks at him. Watches him turn around and walk away, disappear around a corner. 

He goes to sit by the river. He thinks about the man who got under his skin in a few minutes and about Oleg, about how he didn’t notice a big part of his heart leaving his chest and settling in the palm of the Overseer’s hand. Or under the sole of his boot. Whichever he chooses. He thinks about the Whalers. About Morley. About what his life could have been if he had never left his childhood home. 

He can hear The Outsider laughing.


	2. Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka tie me up and set me free, or things don't always go as planned, and that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the first chapter happened, maybe not. Who knows. I sure don't, and Monroe's not telling.

“That is a lot of wine.”

“I'm a greedy heretic.” Monroe sets the three bottles on Oleg’s desk, right on top of paperwork, and grins at the Overseer. Oleg gives him a _look_.

“We are not drinking all of it.”

“Of course we're not, you're too distracting.”

They drink half of it, with Monroe slowly peeling layers of uniform off of his Overseer, until Oleg is left barefoot and shirtless. Monroe stands up then, takes his own shirt off and offers Oleg a hand. Oleg looks up at him and the whaler can swear the corner of his lips twitches before he takes it. 

Monroe leads him to the bed, to the middle of it. He thinks about Daud for a second, about how the man can radiate authority with seemingly no effort.

“Kneel.”

He ties Oleg’s hands behind his back slowly, but expertly, like he’s done this countless times before. And he has, but he’ll never tell the man it was only to untie the hands of corpses later. Or maybe he should. _That_ would make things interesting.

It would make things interesting, because Monroe can never choose what he wants to be to the Overseer. A solid weight to ground him or to crush him. And Oleg knows that.

He could be nice, a big softie that he can be. Watch Oleg from the shadows, a constant reassurance that he’s not alone among people he calls brothers, and gently knock on his window at night. Put him to sleep with gentle touches and soft kisses. 

“Let me take care of you tonight, my prince.” He purrs against Oleg’s hair, tightening the rope. “Relax and forget everything… Everything except this.” A hand on the Overseer’s back, sliding up between his shoulderblades. Monroe’s a lover, he loves every body that falls into bed with him, but this… Oleg is different. His skin makes Monroe’s own burn.

His hair feels almost like silk when Monroe drowns his fingers in it.

And yes, Monroe can be nice, but he can also be what people expect him to be. A heretic. _The_ heretic, the one who seduced their High Overseer and will inevitably make him fall. “Because if you don’t…” he grabs Oleg’s hair and yanks his head back. “I’ll have to make you.” 

Oleg lets out a choked laugh. “Oh, please do.” 

For a short moment Monroe imagines what it would feel like to stab him. Bad memories at the worst possible time. Might as well stab himself right after. That would hurt less than the rest of his life. He’ll have to work those urges out later. With other… less fortunate Overseers.

“You want it?” He tries his best to sound detached. “You have to ask nicer than that.”

“Please, Monroe. Break me.”

“Tell me you’ll be a good little overseer. Tell me you’ll do everything I say.” Monroe is so much better at praise, but it’s too early for that. And he knows that he’s stalling, anxious about what he’s going to do. He doesn’t really know what it will be, yet. He’s a lover, not a master. 

“I’ll be good.” Oleg whispers. “I’ll be so good. I’ll do everything you want me to.”

It’s quite the other way around, Monroe thinks, and buries his face in Oleg’s neck and breathes in deeply. “The things _you_ make _me_ do…”

“The things I would make you do if I was allowed…”

And this, this is the power Monroe has been given, and he’s grateful for the reminder.

“Too bad you’re not.” He chuckles. “Too bad you’re only allowed to do what I say.” There’s a pause, a few seconds for them, mostly Monroe, to get into their roles. The Whaler takes a deep breath. “Listen to my voice, my prince. I am your seven strictures now.” 

The shaky breath Oleg lets out is more than encouraging.

Monroe wraps his fingers around Oleg’s throat. “Breathe,” he orders. “I want to feel your life in my hands.” It's perfect for a killer, the flutter of a pulse under his palm and the steady rise and fall of a chest under his arm. Steady, until Monroe starts to squeeze. The effect is immediate when one knows where to put their fingers. Oleg chokes on a gasp and stiffens, pulse quickening with adrenaline.

“I've killed people like this.” Monroe purrs. “Just as slowly and intimately. Does it feel good to know that I won't kill _you_?” Oleg nods, as much as he can with Monroe's iron grip on his throat. He's feeling lightheaded already, and Void, if every Whaler was like that...the Abbey would long have fallen.

And not because the Overseers would die _fighting_ them.

Oleg wonders if he’ll pass out. He's in Monroe's hands, he's safe, Monroe knows what he’s doing. The Whaler is a killer, but he has control. His grip is unforgiving, never softening, bringing tears into Oleg’s eyes, and it’s… freeing, somehow. To give up all control to someone who can easily destroy you.  
And then Monroe lets go.

Oleg gasps in a breath, and sighs out Monroe's name. The whaler kisses his neck, just where his fingers were a moment ago. “You alright?”

“Of course.” Oleg smiles, still a little breathless. “Are you worried? We do have a safeword.”

“Yeah...yeah.” Monroe wraps his arms around the Overseer. “I don't think I can do this today.”

And that's, oh. That means something. That means Monroe's moods getting the better of him, and _that_ means weeks of silence and wait and worry. And a sad Whaler drinking alone in the heights of the ruins of the flooded district. Oleg has to do something. “Untie me then?” 

“Yeah.” They both stay silent while Monroe undoes the knots, runs his fingers over where marks would be left on Oleg’s wrists if their game had lasted longer. Kisses his shoulder. Oleg is, surprisingly, the one to break the silence.

“Monroe?”

“Yes?” Monroe’s lips move against his skin, warming it. Oleg feels the chilly air of the room on his other shoulder.

“What's wrong? Did you do something?”

Monroe sighs. “Killed a few people. For work.” His arms around Oleg tighten. “I don't want to be that person today anymore.”

Oleg wiggles around in the tight embrace and faces his Whaler for the first time since their game started. Monroe has the most captivating eyes. Deep, rich brown like dark chocolate. One day Oleg will forget to be careful and get lost in them.

“You're beautiful.” Shit. What? Maybe he already did.

Monroe chuckles silently and shakes his head. “That's my line.” 

Oleg just shrugs. “You have to learn how to share.” He wants to...do _something_ , kiss the man or just touch his face. But Monroe's embrace is close to crushing and Oleg just stares defiantly at those beautiful eyes until Monroe gets the hint and lets go. He's free to touch a man he cares about and...there it is. It was forbidden for most of his life. His fingers twitch and curl into the sheets as he looks down. Monroe presses their foreheads together. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. Oleg carefully shakes his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he whispers back and Monroe giggles.

“Can't believe you just said that to a heretic.”

Oleg takes a deep breath and looks back into those damned eyes. They have some spark back in them and it warms his heart. But not enough to make him let this heretic get away with being a prick.

“Will you please stop teasing me about my failures as an Overseer?” Sounding strict is always a mistake, because Monroe likes that. He finds it _cute_. He smiles this time, too.

“Now I have something to be sorry about.”

Oleg huffs.

“Asshole.”

Monroe's going to say sorry again, they both know that. He opens his mouth and Oleg grabs his face and smashes their lips together. 

“No more sorries tonight.” He orders against Monroe's lips. “Alright?” Monroe nods. 

“I think I could still taste wine on you, but I'm not sure.” Their mouths open for each other at the same time and they fall on the pillows side by side, kissing and touching, the rope discarded by their feet until another time.


End file.
